


Simple Pleasures

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aziraphale taking care of his demon's needs, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance, might be considered tooth rotting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 17:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: There's something Crowley wants from Aziraphale - something he's been craving for months now - but he's too afraid, and embarrassed, to ask.





	Simple Pleasures

Sometimes the simplest things are the most difficult to ask for.

Crowley knows that he shouldn’t be scared – or ashamed – to ask for things from Aziraphale. They’ve known each other for six-thousand bloody years! They’re best friends.

And now, they’re husbands.

If there is anyone on Earth Crowley should be able to take his wants and worries to, it’s Aziraphale.

Crowley has been suffering, wanting, _craving_ for months now, with no end to his misery in sight if his husband doesn’t help him. But when he finally finds the right moment to ask, lying beside him in bed, watching him sleep, Crowley can’t do it. He can’t disturb his angel’s rest for _this_.

He can’t bring himself to say the words.

Because aside from the embarrassment of this request, it brings back a pain that has stuck with him his entire existence.

As it turns out, Aziraphale doesn’t need his demon to say a word.

He already knows.

He reaches out, eyes still closed, and puts a hand to his cheek.

“Why haven’t you asked me before?” he whispers. “You can ask me for _anything_. You know that.”

Crowley turns into the warmth of Aziraphale’s palm and gives it a kiss.

“Because I didn’t know how,” Crowley confesses. “I’m so used to going without … I don’t want it _all_ the time. Rarely, even. But the last few days …” He shakes his head but doesn’t move an inch that would take him away from the softness of his angel’s hand “… I don’t know. I don’t understand. I don’t know why I’m acting this way, I don’t know why the need is so strong. Look, if we do it this once, then you don’t have to again, not for another thousand years, I swear …”

Aziraphale opens his eyes, grinning at his strong, cocky demon so nervous, so insecure. “Crowley, my dear … it’s alright. You can ask me for this anytime you want. I’ll always say yes.”

Crowley’s grateful smile lights his watery yellow eyes. “Really?”

Aziraphale leans close, rests their foreheads together, yearning to give his husband strength through that single touch. “Really.”

“Great!” Crowley laughs, biting his lower lip like a nervous schoolboy. “That’s … that’s great – _can we maybe do it now_?”

Aziraphale inches forward a mere breath more and places a small kiss on his husband’s mouth. “Absolutely …”

***

Aziraphale smiles as he watches his husband tuck into his dinner: prime rib, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted Brussel sprouts, and for dessert, a fifteen layer crepe cake filled with hazelnut spread and strawberry cream. He’s paired it with a bottle of a robust red, but in a manner very uncharacteristic of his husband, Crowley hasn’t touched a drop.

They’ve only switched bodies the one time, so it’s still a little odd watching himself - his _human_ form - from a distance. He’s self-conscious about a few things - things that he can see in great detail through Crowley’s eyes: his double chin, the way his nostrils flare when he breathes, the flush in his cheeks, his hairline. But he’s not entirely comfortable inhabiting Crowley’s body. His limbs are too long, his chin too sharp, his shoulders too square, his waist too narrow. It’s appealing on Crowley when Crowley is inside, but for all of Gabriel’s grousing about Aziraphale’s weight, this tall, trim figure doesn’t suit him.

Self-consciousness aside, knowing that it’s his husband inside his body digging in to the largest meal Aziraphale can ever remember seeing him eat makes that tiny bit of difference.

He’s one handsome devil, if he does say so himself.

“Here, here! Have a bite!” Crowley says, excitedly offering his angel a carefully layered forkful of potato, sprout, and meat.

Caught up in his husband’s excitement, Aziraphale accepts, but promptly regrets it when the food touches his tongue. He doesn’t want to do a thing to sully his demon’s mood, so he chews the bare minimum and forces it down, flushing the remains with Crowley’s forgotten glass of wine.

Aziraphale could kick himself. He, too, didn’t understand at first because he’d forgotten. How could he have forgotten!? These are the things Aziraphale is supposed to know! It’s literally his area of expertise, and not just because he’s an angel.

But because he owns a bookshop stocked with at least a dozen different versions of the Holy Bible.

_Genesis 3:14 - The Lord God said to the serpent, "Because you did this, more cursed shall you be than all cattle and all the wild beasts: On your belly shall you crawl and dirt shall you eat all the days of your life …”_

Crowley doesn’t eat dirt, of course, but that isn’t the point. The wording is poetic and therefore a matter of interpretation. By definition, demons and angels don’t_ have_ to eat. In fact, it is believed by most angels that they shouldn’t eat mortal food. It is considered corrupt - pollution to a celestial body.

Aziraphale eats mortal food because he enjoys it.

Crowley had wanted to, too, once upon a time.

Crowley doesn’t eat in his serpent form, but apparently the punishment endures regardless. He told Aziraphale that not _all_ food tastes like dirt. It’s more just bland, and even when it isn’t, he doesn’t possess the ability to enjoy it. The only time he _does_ enjoy eating mortal food is when he’s around his angel, because simply being in Aziraphale’s presence makes everything better.

Crowley wasn’t even thinking the first time when Aziraphale (in his body) had handed him the ice cream cone. He’d licked it, absorbed in playing the part and completely on his guard. One lick was all he got before the angels tied him up and kidnapped him.

But that single lick was _glorious_.

With everything going on that day - he, too, on high alert - Aziraphale never noticed that the strawberry lolly he’d gotten only two licks of didn’t taste quite right.

That should have jarred his memory. It didn’t.

Listening to Crowley talk about it gave Aziraphale the chills. He couldn’t bear to think of an existence without his favorite foods. It was a simple thing, but it was part of what made life on Earth unique, worth living. Giving it up would be the same as turning out the stars or extinguishing the sun.

Or losing his demon.

“How’s that?” Aziraphale asks in Crowley’s smooth tenor when he’s pretty much polished off his meat. “Satisfactory?”

“Oh, that’s … that’s scrummy, that is,” Crowley replies, wiping his mouth in a very non-Aziraphale way. It makes Aziraphale chuckle at just how much _Crowley_ he can see in himself. It warms his soul, makes him feel complete. “Thank you for this, angel. I certainly owe you one.”

“No need.” Aziraphale breathes a soft, contented sigh, gazing lovingly at his possessed body with a hand resting in his palm. “It’s my pleasure.”


End file.
